


Traveling Through The Land Of Nod

by 1f_this_be_madness



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, M/M, Supernatural season 9 spoilers, takes place between S9 Ep18 and before/during the S9 finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-02
Updated: 2015-10-02
Packaged: 2018-04-24 09:39:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4914517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1f_this_be_madness/pseuds/1f_this_be_madness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>The idea for this story occurred after I was reading Psalm 104 and started thinking about Cain and Gadreel. They both have such heartbreaking stories that are also incredibly similar to one another (at least, in the realm of Supernatural). I really wanted Cain to come to peace with himself again, and I became incredibly fond of Gadreel later on in the 9th season. So I decided the best thing for both of them would be if they ended up meeting, and I am rather pleased with the way this story turned out. I hope you like it.</p><p>I do not own the rights to these characters or their backstories; for that, I must thank the creator and writers of Supernatural. Sincerest and greatest thanks go out to Tahmoh Pinkett and Timothy Omundson for endowing their characters with such depth and clarity that I could slip into their story with the ease of slipping into my most comfortable coat.</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The idea for this story occurred after I was reading Psalm 104 and started thinking about Cain and Gadreel. They both have such heartbreaking stories that are also incredibly similar to one another (at least, in the realm of Supernatural). I really wanted Cain to come to peace with himself again, and I became incredibly fond of Gadreel later on in the 9th season. So I decided the best thing for both of them would be if they ended up meeting, and I am rather pleased with the way this story turned out. I hope you like it.
> 
> I do not own the rights to these characters or their backstories; for that, I must thank the creator and writers of Supernatural. Sincerest and greatest thanks go out to Tahmoh Pinkett and Timothy Omundson for endowing their characters with such depth and clarity that I could slip into their story with the ease of slipping into my most comfortable coat.

“…The earth is full of thy riches.  
So is this great and wide sea,  
Wherein are things creeping innumerable;  
Both small and great beasts.  
There go the ships;  
There is that leviathan, whom thou hast made to play therein.  
These wait all upon thee  
That thou mayest give them their meat in due season.  
That thou givest them they gather;  
Thou openest thine hand, they are filled with good.  
Thou hidest thy face, they are troubled;  
Thou takest away their breath, they die,  
And return to their dust.  
Thou sendest forth thy spirit—they are created,  
And thou renewest the face of the earth.”  
~from Psalm 104

Gadreel hears this excerpt spoken in a sermon one Sunday and cannot help smiling bitterly. “The Lord renewest the earth, all right. He also continues to place my shame and weakness in the forefront of the minds of my brothers and sisters, thus ensuring that I cannot find peace among them.” This angel is wandering again, after retreating from the body of Sam Winchester and returning to his initial vessel. “I am touring the country,” is what he says whenever humans ask him where he goes. They gaze at him in confusion, indifference, or even with kindness—so different from the gazes of hatred and scorn that he has witnessed for millennia, that he revisits every earthly night in his meditations—since angels do not sleep. 

\---  
He now passes a homestead in the middle of nowhere. It is surrounded by beautiful flowers as well as several square monoliths that emit a constant buzzing noise. The angel halts to listen to and stare at the strange structures. His gaze is so intent that he does not register the presence of another being nearby until a male voice speaks:

“These are hives for honeybees. My wife had the initial idea to build them, and now I keep ‘em going alone, since the art of farming isn’t one of my talents.” The disgraced angel jerks in surprise and looks up into a lined, bearded face that holds as much pain and sorrow as Gadreel sees in his own countenance whenever he looks into one of those silvered glasses humans use—mirrors, he remembers someone calling them—because for some reason people seem to LIKE studying their own faces, as though they can catalogue anything other than loss.

“‘Thou openest thine hand, they are filled with good.’” The angel murmurs in a voice filled with wonder as he watches the flight patterns of several bees. The other man weighs his reply carefully, not knowing who this stranger is; but it seems only angels, demons, and bullheaded hunters are able to locate and make it to his home unscathed.

“Much of the time I don’t see that in the Lord’s creations,” the beekeeper admits, cupping one hand gently around an insect that has landed upon his palm, “But with bees, I’m inclined to agree with you. They ARE filled with good.” Something in the visitor’s face has softened and brightened. This makes the homeowner smile slightly and he invites the stranger inside for a cup of tea with honey. The blond guest, who had kneeled to better inspect one of the hives, straightens up with his head bowed in thanks? Shame? Contrition?

“I thank you, sir, but you will not be so gracious once you know who I am.” The bearded man barks out a laugh.

“Son, trust me, I will have no room to be rude or cruel to you, no matter how rotten you think you are. Do you know who _I _am?” The other man appears both taken aback and truly confused.__

____

____

“You are kind and gentle to even the smallest of God’s creatures; that is all I can see,” offers the angel. He hesitantly sticks out his hand for an introduction. “And I value that, being who I am. My name is Gadreel.” The homeowner grips his hand firmly.

“Pleasure. The name’s Cain.” He turns back to the house door, calling over his shoulder, “You sure you still want some of my tea?” before turning away again, not expecting an answer other than a cry of fear or disgust from the angel—for he is obviously an angel with a name like that—Cain just can’t recall what this one did Upstairs that would make others refuse to speak to him or even serve him tea. He doesn’t care; angels are all the same. No one wanted to believe that he was not a cold-blooded killer, that the Lord had done wrong by Marking him and casting him out, effectively sending him giftwrapped directly to the Devil to become the first Knight of Hell. The only person who hadn’t condemned him outright was Dean Winchester. The hunter. But that had been because he and Cain were one and the same; and since he got what he wanted, there is no way the first murderer will ever see him again. Thus he almost falls over when he hears the present man’s voice,

“Yes, I am sure. Please.” He follows Cain into the house, which looks to be undergoing some rigorous repairs—Abaddon’s demons can do lots of damage to a structure when the demon King of Hell and Public Enemy Number One are both inside of it—but the structure is solid and appears cozy nonetheless. Not nearly as wide-open as the majority of Heaven; in fact, it is about as small as the block of cells in which Gadreel had spent much of his existence. However, the fact that there are no bars on the windows or seals forbidding exit enables him to relax ever-so-slightly. He can feel Cain studying him, but that is no surprise—it’s not every day that you have the original Deceiving Angel inside your kitchen. It also isn’t common to be invited into the house of CAIN. If Gadreel is the authority on angelic mistakes, Cain is certainly so for the human ones.


	2. Chapter 2

***  
Cain is large and broad-shouldered and sinewy, making it no problem for the angel to believe him capable of bashing in the skull of his younger brother Abel. However, Gadreel is also aware that even divine beings make mistakes, case in point: him, and so does not pass judgement upon this man who is so careful of his bees.

The beekeeper takes down two delicate-looking cups and pours warm water in them both as he waits for the kettle to whistle. “You want something to eat with your tea?” and without waiting for an answer, he plunks a block of cheese on the table. “Churned the cheese myself. I also have a cow.” So the man outlines the fact that an animal depends upon him for safety and sustenance, making Gadreel even surer that there is more to this man than what the Host of Heaven sees. Thanking Cain, he tries to cut off a slice of cheese to place upon the unleavened bread that also rests on the table. Sensing the angel is having trouble, Cain comes over and shows him how, slicing a hunk of cheese for him with a shthock! Of the knife. Gadreel nods in thanks and copies the motions, cutting a piece for Cain and handing it to him atop a small square of bread.

The man holds up the snack as though it is an offering, and Gadreel holds his breath because he had not thought to thank the Lord. But after holding the food still for only a moment, Cain chews and swallows it. Gadreel does the same, and finds that the smooth thickness of the cheese goes very well with the thin hardness of the bread. He chows down on several more snacks with obvious enjoyment before the teakettle commences to whistle and Cain pours the tea leaves, adding a generous dollop of honey inside both cups. “Best to let it steep for a bit,” he says, coming over and swinging a leg over to straddle the chair across from Gadreel’s. “So. Tell me a little bit about yourself, angel.” Gadreel feels his vessel’s face go cold, as if he has frozen in place on the chair.

“What do you wish to know? There have been numerous tales told about me for eons; none of them flattering.” Cain snorts violently and points at himself.

“Compared to the stories about ME?! Come on, kid, I know what it is to look bad to everybody for so long that you start seemin’ bad even to yourself. Tell me something about you that Heaven doesn’t know.”

“I murdered my best friend,” Gadreel blurts out. “I killed him in cold blood, because I wanted SO MUCH to find perfection, to be forgiven for my last mistake. But when his blood was on the floor and I had cleansed my hands, I realized…nothing could be perfect after this. I had tried to erase the memory of one mistake by committing another, thousands of times as grievous.” After speaking thus, the angel puts his face into his hands and sobs. He had not cried for Abner on the day he did the deed; he should have, but he was still under Metatron’s spell and his heart had been cold, so cold…. But that is not the entire truth. In a miniscule corner of his mind, he had WANTED to do it. Abner was a reminder of all that he had suffered. No matter what else happened, if Abner had lived, his presence would have been a constant reminder of the ages of shame Gadreel had endured for a single stupid mistake. Cain looks at him now, and Gadreel feels bare before those ancient heavy eyes, as though the man knows all of his thoughts, not only the words he had spoken aloud. Then Cain clears his throat.

“Well. If we’re already on to the ‘murders I’ve most regretted’ track, here’s one: I killed my wife. Stabbed her with the First Blade. I had gone straight, fought against the Mark for so long…” his voice grows hard as stone. “…but then came Abaddon. She was my second-in-command when I was a Knight of Hell, and she snuck in here and wanted me to come back with her. To depose Lucifer, to rule together over all the land. I said no. I had a life, not much, but I was content with Colette. We were happy. I hadn’t used the Blade in years. Abi got angry when I told her that, and said I wasn’t using my potential. I was wasting it. ‘And since you’re wasting your potential, why don’t you waste her?’ then she—possessed Colette.” Cain’s voice is shaking now, with rage or sorrow, Gadreel cannot tell. Perhaps both. “And she said she would make things hell for me. That I’d be sorry. She’d start with using Colette as her vessel. And I couldn’t—I couldn’t let her go like that, so I grabbed the Blade and sent it through Col’s stomach. I thought I’d gotten Abaddon, but the bitch was too quick—she exorcised herself out of my wife just before I could. My wife died in my arms by my own hand.” The tea has steeped, and Cain pours it for them both as he talks, his hands shaking only slightly. “Now that we got that out of the way, I initially wanted to hear something POSITIVE about you, kid.” Oh. Well then, that will be a lot harder to tell.

***  
Cain and Gadreel sit speaking at that solid kitchen table for so long that the sun has passed nearly all the way across the sky and darkness is settling in before either one can believe it. Gadreel jumps up on the instant that he realizes, his face full of shame— “I am sorry to have wasted so much of your time,” he sputters to Cain. “Th-thank you for the tea, but I—I must be going.” Cain rolls his eyes and sighs explosively.

“Look, kid, I’m not going to bite you. Or stab you. Or imprison you for thousands of years like those asshole seraphs did. I promise. I am ALSO not going to throw you out of my house just because it’s nighttime! I have enough food for the both of us, and…I could use some company.” He says this last quietly, gruffly, but sincerely too. His eyes never leave the face of Gadreel; who in turn bows his blond head in thanks and apology for again misjudging Cain, for believing him capable (and culpable) of the heinous deeds the angel had heretofore received from all those who came in contact with him in the prison-house of Heaven.


	3. Chapter 3

***---***  


When Gadreel tells Hannah, _Run, sister, _he uses his power to implode the shared wall between his and Castiel’s cell.__

__

__This occurs seconds after he recalled what Cain had said to him before the angel left after making his decision to try to go and set things right: “They’ll never forgive you. The angelic horde has so much shit on its shoes that it can’t forgive even one more miniscule mistake from one of its own. If you get yourself outta there in one piece, come on back here, kid. I’ve still got an extra bed.” Gadreel had replied with, “I don’t sleep,” and grinned as Cain rolled his eyes and let out one of his explosive sighs before shaking hands and waving goodbye. Now the disgraced angel does as the first murderer says, hoping that he has enough power left to get him to Cain’s front yard. His feet hit the ground and his knees buckle even as he hears the comforting buzz of many bees. Rolling onto his side, Gadreel smiles as the world goes dark and Cain bends over him._ _

____

__

“Stupid idiot,” the man mutters—as soon as he is warned by the bees that something is wrong, Cain knows what it is and runs flat-out around the side of the house just in time to see that infuriatingly naïve angel collapse between two hives. Lucky bastard. He appeared right where the bees would find him; but he’s bleeding all over the grass, and smoking a little, too. With his immense amount of experience as a Knight of Hell, Cain recognizes a burnout when he sees one. Gadreel had obviously needed a lot of power, and—Cain has to move aside the blood-soaked shirt—had to cut holes in his own flesh to get it. With a sigh and a grunt, the knight errant hauls the angel up and uses a fireman’s carry to get him inside the house, scuffing up his wife’s squeaky-clean floors. “Sorry, Col,” Cain mutters as he puts the angel on the guest bed and rushes upstairs for first-aid implements.

***___***  


Gadreel is aware of burning pain that eases ever-so-slightly before flaring up again; he feels rough cloth covering his legs and a cool breeze ruffling his hair and sliding over his chest from an open—window, is it? Wet cloth slides over the planes of his chest, uncaking the dried, burnt skin and clotted blood; the deep wounds are dabbed at with something sweet and cold before he feels himself being lifted up by hands, large hands, strong hands, they grip his shoulders and arms and he cries out because the torturers did this too, they pulled him out of the embrace of Abner and cleaned out his old wounds before slicing him open anew….

“Whoa, easy there, angel,” a gruff voice utters. “Just open your eyes and take a breath. That’s it. You’re safe.” Gadreel feels as if he is deflating as his breath exhales out of his vessel’s nose and he opens his eyes to light so bright and searing for a moment that his vision is blurred with tears before those tears are dabbed away by a dark figure that sits on the bed beside him. Cain. Cain is nursing him back to health.

He hadn’t destroyed himself, after all. He'd gotten to the first murderer's house in time. To his friend's house in time. Gadreel has to stop thinking of this man as anything other than a friend. Because that is what Cain has become; the closest friend he can have now, the only one who could possibly understand the terrible amount of grief this angel exists with. For killing Abner, yes, and for his initial mistake; but also, even more for being taken in by Metatron, for being willing to slaughter innocents whose names just happened to be on the dick head angel's hit-list. Gadreel grits his teeth and prays, if he can do that, for the elder Winchester brother to take Metatron's magic pencil and choke him to death with it. And after he does that, Gadreel feels a flare of pain and gasps out, a thready quiet keening sound; the only noise he is able to make. And Cain is still there to comfort him and try to help him bear the pain.

"I know this probably don't help," the man says, gruff as ever, "but I put some honey salve on your wounds. The bees wanted to help; and I was trying to wrap clean bandages around ya when you woke up from your coma and freaked out on me." 

Gadreel tilts his head in confusion and squints at Cain. “I was—in a coma? What is a coma?”

“Ah. I forget you still don’t know words like that.” Cain clears his throat. “It means that your vessel’s body wasn’t dead, but it was too weak to function normally and the only way to try to fix you up is for your body to kind of shut down unnecessary things. You go into this sort of stupor state. You’re not asleep—I know you don’t sleep, kid, I think you may have told me that a few times already—but you’re not awake. Your body is trying to put itself back together. And it needs my help. And the help of my bees. So, uh, if you’re all done freaking out…” He unrolls a bundle of clean Ace bandages and lays them on the bed next to a jar of his honey salve, “I can finish ministering my meds to help stop the risk of infection. And maybe do a little something for the pain.” He stares into Gadreel’s still-slightly-bleary-eyes seriously. “Is that all right with you?” The angel nods mutely and looks so lost and lonely, like a child, that he reminds Cain of Abel suddenly. Cain clears his throat and reaches around to unravel the sweat-stained blood-soaked skin-caught bandage from Gadreel’s chest. Gadreel’s eyes widen and he bites his lips until Cain sees a blot of blood bloom out of the lower one. He stops and stares at the helpless angel. “Look, I can let you get the rest of it. That way the amount of pain will be under your control, all right?” 

“All right.” The angel watches Cain stir up his medicinal honey before taking the tail-end of his current bandage and ripping it free with a sound that causes Cain to wince. Tears spill out of the blond man’s eyes and he sucks in a shaky breath. Cain cannot help himself, he has to blurt, 

“Abel, don’t torture yourself like that, dammit! How many times have I told you—” The wide-eyed look Gadreel is giving Cain now has a completely different emotion behind it. Sorrow and sympathy for he who had lost so much. Cain chokes on the rest of his statement because, despite himself and his memories, he KNOWS this is not Abel: “—I mean...kid, you need to be more careful.”

Gadreel nods seriously, seeking to assure his friend that he is all right; but also to somehow make him feel better, less guilty—in this moment—about his brother Abel. And thinking about his time here on earth, meeting the Winchesters and Kevin and Castiel, seeing the love and esteem those four have for one another; he thinks of how often Dean referred to Sam as his little brother. He remembers the bonds and the feelings; and now, for himself, he puts them together. “All right, brother. I promise you that I will.” 

Cain's eyes widen, and Gadreel sees the shock and then the sincere gratitude that fill them. Gingerly, so as not to cause the angel any more pain, and only for a moment, Cain puts his arms around the shoulders of the other in a tight hug. There is nothing he can say, and nothing, really, that he needs to say. These two people now understand one another implicitly. And with that trust at work, Gadreel allows Cain to dab and smear salve over each one of his wounds, the gentle firm pressure of those large callused hands granting a promise of friendship and solace and protection from pain. With the new bandages wrapped around him tighter, and a shirt handed to be pulled gingerly down over his head, Gadreel sits beside his new friend Cain with a simple wish of purest clarity: to never leave this place again.

***---***


End file.
